


gather near to us once more

by impossiblepluto



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Christmas Miracles, Gen, Jack's Triumphant Return, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Tissue Warning for the First Chapter, not a death fic though it might seem like it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28773495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: As the second Christmas without Jack looms, it's much harder to have hope.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 37





	gather near to us once more

“Why don’t you see what you can do with those.”

Mac looks up in blinking surprise as Bozer dumps a wad of tangled twinkle-lights in his lap. No longer able to just ignore the rapidly expanding mess in his living room. In other years, he would have expected it. Bozer waking up one day, hopefully in December, and deciding that it was time for the house to get festive. Or immediately after cleaning up the remnants of turkey and pumpkin pie as the rest of the team tries to get him to give up and join him in a tryptophan-induced nap.

Mac just somehow thought this year he’d get a pass. 

He doesn’t particularly feel like celebrating, and Bozer knows it.

“Bozer,” Mac protests, as his friend and former roommate makes himself at home, stacking boxes of decorations on any available floor or furniture space. He woke this morning with a brief second of alarm that there was an intruder in the house. His brain immediately taking stock of potential tools between him and the rattling noises, plotting how to incapacitate them, before he recognized Bozer’s brand of kitchen puttering and the scent of his Christmas cookies. 

Maybe Bozer thought they needed the traditions even more this year. Something familiar to fall back on. 

And Mac does. 

Only it’s not lights, or music, or pastrami. It was never about that.

“Come on, don’t be a Grinch.”

“Even if it is your favorite Christmas song,” Riley teases, turning from the tree where she’s stringing lights, a garland of tinsel wrapped around her shoulders like a feather boa. 

Mac rolls his eyes with a fond smile. He half-expected her to mirror his maudlin thoughts. Was hoping she'd feel a bit more like wallowing with him. He’s happy she’s able to dive head-first into the traditions created by their little family, though it makes him feel more lonely. “It’s not my favorite.”

“The Lindsey Stirling version is lit,” Desi offers, pointing out bare spots on the tree from her place on the couch, legs hanging over the armrest. 

“You’re really gonna sit over there and not help me with this?” Riley asks over her shoulder. 

“Looks great from where I’m sitting,” Desi grins, pulling out her phone and turning on her Christmas playlist. 

Riley smirks. “It’s an interesting musical arrangement. But I don’t know, a little more… I’d get it on with the Grinch than I’m comfortable with. Kinda weird for a kid’s cartoon.”

Desi vaults off the couch over the armrest, stalking forward. “Oh?” 

“Not that I judge,” Riley continues quickly.

“Better not,” Desi warns, moving into Riley’s space, dark eyes smoldering. “Because I’ve heard your Santa Baby rendition. It’s definitely not family friendly.” 

Riley licks her lips and bats the white puff on the end of Desi's Santa hat. “Well, I guess you’ll never be hearing it again.”

Mac ignores the playful flirting. His fingers begin twisting free the tangled lights. “I’m just wondering why we’re doing all this here.”

“It’s a tradition!” Bozer exclaims.

“But you don’t even live here anymore, Boze. You’ve got your own place to decorate. You all do.”

“I’m just here because I was promised food and booze,” Desi says, tipping her bottle towards him.

Mac points towards the crooked Santa hat on her head that belies her story. 

Desi takes another swig before answering and shrugs. “Guess I’ve had just enough booze. And the company is good.” 

“I thought we could all use a little normal,” Bozer says. “This is still home.”

Mac looks around. It’s… close. It’s so close to being home. It’s like walking through a movie set, everything looks right. Familiar. Things where they’re supposed to be. Little touches that make it feel like someone is living here but…

He can see the gaping holes, and the flimsy walls. 

It stopped being home a long time ago. 

That’s not really fair to any of his friends who have stuck with him through the last year. Almost two- he’s mostly stopped counting. Despite his attempts to push them away. They held on loosely, letting him guide the interactions, but left regular reminders that they were around. They didn’t let him shut them out entirely. Though he made a valiant effort to shut himself off from the world, especially when his dark thoughts crowded in, and his strongest defense missing. 

They would be crushed to learn how bad things had been during some of his darker moments.

It’s just… it’s been so long. 

Instead, Mac nods. It’s easier, pretending. 

They haven’t really talked about Christmas plans. Mac’s studiously avoided the date on the calendar. But the snarl of holiday traffic has gotten thicker, the Christmas music blaring from every speaker, increasingly manic, and the ads delivered to his inbox and his mailbox overflow, demanding he spends himself out of his melancholy. 

It’s not so different and yet everything has changed. 

If he had known, as they sat around the table two Christmases ago, that would be the last one, he would have…

What?

Savored it more. Focused harder on the conversation, remember what was said. And how they said it. Hung onto that hug a little tighter for a little longer.

“Are you making your pastrami again this year?” Riley asks as she moves across the living room and snagging a new strand of already-tested lights.

“Wouldn’t be Christmas without it,” Bozer nods. “As long as Mac hasn’t redistributed the parts of the smoker.”

“No, I don’t think I needed anything from it,” Mac searches his memory.

Riley exchanges a look with Bozer. “I’ll be on standby with the fire extinguisher,” she promises.

There should be another voice joining the teasing. Playfully warning Mac not to blow up his friends and his Christmas tree. That fireworks are usually reserved for the Fourth of July and New Years'. Begging for one Christmas without an explosion. 

It wouldn’t really be Christmas without one. 

“You would all be disappointed if something didn’t blow up,” Mac grumbles good-naturedly. “What would you have to talk about then?” He hands the strand of lights off to Riley and starts on the next ball of twisted wire. They flicker for a moment when he plugs them in. Igniting hope in Mac’s chest as they burn brightly. 

Then stuttering, they fade into darkness.

He’s tired. 

“Hey, Mac, you don’t have to try to fix those,” Bozer says, carrying another large rubbermaid container into the living room. “We’ve got plenty. Just one year we can be like everybody else and toss the lights that don’t work.”

“I can fix them,” Mac’s brow lowers stubbornly. “I’m not just going to toss them in a landfill.”

“Strip them for parts,” Desi suggests. “You’re always tearing stuff apart for wires.” 

Bozer puffs as he sets the box down. “Wow, this is heavy. I can’t remember what’s in…”

Looking up from his task for a moment, Mac’s eyes widen. “Bozer…” he tries to stop his friend from raising the lid. 

“Oh.”

Mac’s focus slams back to the lights in his now shaking hands. 

“What do you want to do-”

Riley flies across the room, grabs the lid from Bozer’s hands, and slams it back onto the container. The room is silent except for the interlocking clicking into place. But like Pandora's box after it’s been opened, there’s no closing it again. No ignoring it. Her eyes flit from Mac to Bozer. The silence is deafening. 

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Desi begins cautiously. Assessing the room and feeling the sudden spike of tension. “What’s in the box?”

Riley looks down at her hands, knuckles white as she holds the lid in place, like she’s trying to keep the contents contained. The memories, the fears, the dwindling hope locked away. Her mouth pressed into a thin line. 

“They’re Jack’s gifts,” Bozer says when it’s clear that neither Riley or Mac is going to answer.

Desi nods slowly.

“His birthday was a couple weeks after he... left. And we knew he probably wouldn’t be back by then but it felt… wrong, not to have something. Just in case,” Bozer continues. “I even made a cake.”

“Same for Christmas,” Riley says, staring at her hands. 

“He managed to have gifts for us delivered last year,” Mac shakes his head. “I kind of thought it was him faking us out. That it was a plan to surprise us, at the last minute. Wake up on Christmas morning and he’d have wrapped himself up as a gift under the tree.”

“That sounds very Jack,” Desi says gently.

“Didn’t really know what to do with them when…” Bozer’s voice trails off.

“We put them all in here,” Riley clicks a long nail against the box. “Said we’d save them for next year.”

“Next year,” Mac huffs. “I know he said it could take years but… I thought- I thought he’d be home by now.” 

“Well, I hope you didn’t get him anything perishable,” Desi teases lightly.

“No,” Mac shakes his head. “Went with an IOU for Cowboys’ tickets.”

“Mac gets him a real nerdy gift every year,” Bozer shares. “Like a snuggie, or some other “As Seen on TV” infomercial gift. And they both pretend it’s exactly what Jack wanted, and the only thing Mac got him. Then Jack spends the rest of the day on a stealthy scavenger hunt to find his real present. Which is always tickets to a Cowboys game.”

“I almost bought actual tickets last year.”

“You were hopeful,” Riley looks up at him. “We all were.”

Desi moves to kneel next to Riley. “You should put them under the tree with the other gifts. It’s... hopeful.”

Riley turns her head to look up at Desi. “You’re getting surprisingly sentimental.”

“Maybe you’re wearing off on me?”

“What do you think, Mac?” Riley faces the couch, meeting his eyes. It’s their decision. Bozer and Desi love Jack too, count him as family, but Mac and Riley… those two are Jack’s kids. Jack’s world. “Should we put them out?”

He pauses for a moment, blowing out a slow breath, wondering how much it’s going to hurt when he has to pack the gifts up again with the rest of the Christmas decor at the end of the year. He just wants normal. He wants to see Jack’s name on gifts under his tree and pretend that he’s going to need to keep an eye out so his partner doesn’t start shaking gifts to figure out what he’s getting. 

“I think Desi’s right. If there’s any time of year to have hope, it’s now.” He slides from the couch, moving to kneel next to the box. 

“Wait, let me find the tree skirt,” Bozer says, rummaging through another set of boxes as Riley gingerly lifts the lid again. They remove the brightly wrapped packages slowly. Bows crushed and corners wrinkled but otherwise intact. 

“This one’s from you,” Riley laughs, holding out the gift wrapped with two different papers, held in place with duct tape. A lot of duct tape. 

“I don’t have to waste time with a gift tag. Everyone knows what my wrapping looks like.”

“What is it?” Riley shakes the package lightly.

“Ah! Stop. You’ll have to wait and see,” Mac says, pulling the gift from her hands. He smooths out the paper, fluffs the duct tape bow, and places it under the tree. His eyes suddenly feel moist. Behind him, Riley softly hums, the familiar lyrics filter through his brain.

 _Through the years,  
_ _We all will be together,  
_ If the fates allow...

Life… the fates… have not been kind to them lately, but maybe…

“What is this?” Desi asks, breaking through Mac’s maudlin thoughts.

Riley’s laughter rings while Bozer groans. 

“It’s Jack’s stocking!” 

“How does this sock keep turning up every year?”

A smile twitches on Mac’s face. 

“Stop calling it a stocking,” Bozer gathers up the red and white faux fur, the blue velveteen, and plaid with duct tape in front of him and shakes them. “These are stockings. That sock is not a stocking.” 

“Mac made that stocking for Jack the first year they were home from the Army,” Riley explains to a puzzled Desi. “And Bozer hates it.”

“Only because he keeps blowing up or hiding the actual stocking I made and hanging up this sock.”

“I don’t think it would feel like Christmas if you weren’t ranting about socks,” Mac offers innocently. The antics of his friends makes the ache in his chest throb a little, but he can’t help the smile on his face. “It’s tradition.” 

“Don’t go getting any ideas,” Bozer warns Desi, as she examines the sock and Jack’s name written in puffy paint. “I made a stocking for you too. It’s around here somewhere.”

“What if I want a sock, though?” 

“No. No more socks.”

The smile on Mac’s face falters as his phone buzzes. He fishes it from his pocket, staring at the screen. He doesn’t recognize the number. Hesitating for only another second, he thumbs the screen to answer. 

“Hello,” he says slowly, wincing when a burst of static echoes through the speaker. He repeats the cautious greeting.

“Mac?” The voice is tinny. Garbled. But he’d recognize it anywhere.

“Jack!” Mac pushes a finger to his unoccupied ear as excited exclamations fill the room, the decorating and teasing forgotten as they surround him. Anxious faces turned towards him. They each want their turn, but Mac is feeling selfish. 

“Hey, buddy, how you doing?”

“We’re alright. How are you? Where are you?” Mac closes his eyes, straining to listen.

“Can’t tell ya where, sorry kiddo,” Jack coughs. “Just want to… just wanted to call and say hi. Hear your voice. I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Jack.”

“You at home?”

“Yeah, we’re all here. Riley, Bozer, and Desi.”

“Good, good. I'm glad they’re with you. That you’re keeping the after mission traditions alive.”

“Yeah,” Mac smiles sadly. “Mostly.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t called as much as I wanted to. It’s- ya know- it’s been…”

“I know. Hard to get a secure line.”

“Never should have left you. I haven’t told you that enough. Leaving you was a mistake. Biggest mistake I ever made.”

“Jack, what’s wrong?” Mac’s heart thumping hard in his chest. His throat feels like it’s closing. He waves a hand to silence the concerned questions that erupt. He leaps to his feet, pacing towards the window.

“Nothing’s wrong. Just wanted to call and tell you how proud I am of you. How much I love you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I do love you, Mac. I’m so proud-”

“Not that. Tell me what’s wrong. What’s going on?”

“I’m- I’m not gonna make it home for Christmas, Mac.”

“Jack, please…” Mac turns away, concentrating on the words through the static, ignoring the faces of his family that surround him.

“Just like old times, hoss. Ran into a little trouble.” 

“Where are you? What do you need.”

“There’s not a lot of time, kid.”

“Damn it, Jack! What do you mean?” 

“Stepped in it. Again. Well, on it. So much for being Mr. Careful-Careful.”

“No,” Mac can barely breathe out the word around his chest seizing.

“Yeah… Got a bomb here and uh… five minutes on the timer.” 

“Is anyone with you? Don’t you have a bomb tech?”

“Nah, got the team outta here. Just me, the bomb, and the ghost of ol’ Tiberius mocking me. Least the bastard will never know I followed him right after.” 

“Damn it, Jack. This is why you should have taken me with you.”

“This is exactly why I didn’t. Cause you’d be all stubborn and trying to ride it out with me and I couldn’t bear that.” 

“Jack... you promised...”

“I know. I’m sorry, kiddo. I’ve always tried real hard not to break a promise to you, but this is one… well, if there was ever a promise I was gonna break, this is the one.” 

“No. This is not the end. Turn on your camera, let me see what I’m working with.” 

“That’s the other problem, hoss. Camera’s out. Can’t believe the phone is even working. Shouldn’t be. I’ve had this same phone the entire time, didn’t know it was possible to keep a phone longer than a couple of months. It’s kind of boring. ”

Mac scrubs a hand through his hair, tugging on it gently. “Jack… okay, tell me what you see.”

“Damn it, Mac, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“Jack, stop wasting time. Tell me what you see.”

“Just selfish… wasn’t gonna tell you… just wanted to hear your voice…”

“Jack! Shut the hell up. Tell me what you see,” Mac opens his eyes and faces Riley who is clinging to Bozer as they rest of the team slowly realized what was going on, and mouthing, “can you trace this?”

Riley nods, eyes wide and full of tears, nearly vaulting over the couch for her bag and the rig inside. 

“It’s a Claymore, couple of feet in front of me. Attached to a pressure plate, heard a click when I stepped on it. Pretty sure I can’t outrun it.”

“Do not try to outrun it. The explosion velocity of a Claymore is four thousand feet per second. There is no way you can outrun it.”

“Yeah, isn’t that what I just said?” 

Mac clenches his fist. “Without shifting your weight, can you see the connection?”

“It's right there in front of me, but I can’t reach it from here though, not without shifting. He made sure of that. But I’ve got a mirror. Was able to take a look at the wires under the pressure plate. And I managed to hang onto that Swiss Army Knife you gave me for luck.”

The laughter that bubbles from Mac’s lips feels a little maniacal. A desperate sharp edge to it. 

“Hey, take a breath, Mac.”

“No, I’m good." It's not about him. "Tell me what you see.”

Jack is meticulous in describing the inner workings of the pressure plate to Mac, it’s not the first time he’s needed to be Mac’s eyes and hands for a bomb disposal. The stakes are higher this time.

“Too bad it’s not super obvious, like in Air Force One, cut the wire that’s not red, white, or blue,” Jack rambles. Mac closes his eyes as he listens to the familiar drawl and envisions what Jack is describing. 

He talks Jack through the snipping of wires, reminding him not to touch anything else with the tool as he goes. His hands are shaking like they’ve never done when he’s disarmed a bomb. Step by step, achingly aware of the ticking clock. 

“Hey, Mac, whatever happens, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Jack-”

“I don’t want you thinking… it just, it wasn’t your fault. Promise me, you’ll at least try to believe that.”

Mac is silent, lips pressed firmly together. He takes a sharp, jagged breath through his nose.

“Stubborn as always. I’m sorry to put you through this, kiddo. But I am glad that you’re here.” But he’s not there. They were supposed to do this together and if he’s wrong… 

“Time’s just about up.”

And Mac wishes… for more time. There’s never enough time. 

“Jack…” his voice trails off, as he wishes for words. 

“I know, hoss.” He does. Jack always knows what he wants to say. “Here we go.”

There’s a click.

The phone beeps in his ear. The call dropped.

“Jack!” 

* * *


End file.
